DARRELL NORMAN: Masked raiders come early to the costume ball

Published: Friday, November 1, 2013 at 5:57 p.m.

Last Modified: Friday, November 1, 2013 at 5:59 p.m.

It was the e’en of Halloween, 24 hours before the annual assault of goblins, ghosts and ghouls. Dusk was still as death, with no breath of breeze to caress the leaves.

After a day of tussling with modernity, I retreated to my backyard sanctum to let my mind wind down. I sat at a table beside the pool, now closed for winter, and sipped a toddy made close to the way William Faulkner made his. Or perhaps not so close.

I poured rye whisky and water over ice, stirred in a teaspoon of sugar, squeezed a slice of lemon and dropped it before stirring. Faulkner used bourbon and made sure the sugar was dissolved in a little water, preferably rainwater, before he poured in the whiskey. It was a commandment.

In one of his stories, a murderer from the North is pretending to be a Southern gentleman. He gets by with the ruse until he mixes sugar with his whiskey. The true gents know no true Southerner would do this, so he is exposed.

I recently read this anecdote in a piece about the favorite drinks of American writers. Faulkner’s was the mint julep, but he also liked his toddy, both hot and cold. I was thinking about this important fact as I went out the sliding back door.

Just as I reached my chair I saw movement on the path that leads from the lower yard up to the pool deck. Two uninvited guests had put on their masks a day early and come looking for a handout – two healthy raccoons, either mates or siblings.

As I put my drink down, the coons kept advancing as if they had not seen me, so I went back inside and put a long lens on my camera. When I came out, one coon was raking the leaves under the bird feeder and the other was neck deep in a water bucket near my table.

I came down the steps with the camera in continuous mode, firing on full automatic. The light was coming and going, so at times my flash came on. Those shots showed the coons’ eyes as points of light.

Our place has dozens of trees of various kinds and there is a strip of woods at the back fence. The wooded ridge that looks down on the Interstate is close by, so I would not be surprised to see a deer pursued by coyotes leap the fence into the yard, or the pool.

I have not seen those critters yet, but the coons have visited from the time we moved here. We used to keep sunflower seeds for the birds in a covered metal can on the screened porch. The coons caught the scent, tore a big hole in the screen, pushed the can over and helped themselves. Every night.

I patched the porch with hardware cloth and moved the seed bin to the garage. That only diverted them to the bird feeder, a metal dish mounted on a tall pipe spiked in the ground. Squirrels climb the pipe but only the coons wrestle it to the ground.

The feeder was empty when the early trick-or-treaters came to call, but they were led toward it, either by smell or by memory. I got several shots of them on the ground, staring straight at me and my camera.

I got greedy for a closer shot and kept moving toward the animals. When I crossed an invisible line, they gave me a good look and ambled to the fence. After a pause, they made their way up a big dogwood and out onto a long limb. There they sprawled out amid the purple leaves and waited for me to withdraw.

My bride had suggested we throw them some fresh sunnies. I said we should not, but then I gave in and scattered a scoop of seeds by the fence, hoping to coax them down.

Eventually they came part of the way down, but the light was fading and they melded into the dark. I had consumed my limit of rye toddies by then and gave it up for the night.

I am writing this the next day and I will forgo the toddy tonight to photograph human monsters at the door. Stormy weather may keep some of them home, but storm or no storm, I expect the tricksters in the Lone Ranger masks to sneak in for their share of the treats.

Darrell Norman is a columnist for The Gadsden Times. He can be reached at darrell.norman7@gmail.com.

<p>It was the e'en of Halloween, 24 hours before the annual assault of goblins, ghosts and ghouls. Dusk was still as death, with no breath of breeze to caress the leaves.</p><p>After a day of tussling with modernity, I retreated to my backyard sanctum to let my mind wind down. I sat at a table beside the pool, now closed for winter, and sipped a toddy made close to the way William Faulkner made his. Or perhaps not so close.</p><p>I poured rye whisky and water over ice, stirred in a teaspoon of sugar, squeezed a slice of lemon and dropped it before stirring. Faulkner used bourbon and made sure the sugar was dissolved in a little water, preferably rainwater, before he poured in the whiskey. It was a commandment.</p><p>In one of his stories, a murderer from the North is pretending to be a Southern gentleman. He gets by with the ruse until he mixes sugar with his whiskey. The true gents know no true Southerner would do this, so he is exposed.</p><p>I recently read this anecdote in a piece about the favorite drinks of American writers. Faulkner's was the mint julep, but he also liked his toddy, both hot and cold. I was thinking about this important fact as I went out the sliding back door.</p><p>Just as I reached my chair I saw movement on the path that leads from the lower yard up to the pool deck. Two uninvited guests had put on their masks a day early and come looking for a handout – two healthy raccoons, either mates or siblings.</p><p>As I put my drink down, the coons kept advancing as if they had not seen me, so I went back inside and put a long lens on my camera. When I came out, one coon was raking the leaves under the bird feeder and the other was neck deep in a water bucket near my table.</p><p>I came down the steps with the camera in continuous mode, firing on full automatic. The light was coming and going, so at times my flash came on. Those shots showed the coons' eyes as points of light.</p><p>Our place has dozens of trees of various kinds and there is a strip of woods at the back fence. The wooded ridge that looks down on the Interstate is close by, so I would not be surprised to see a deer pursued by coyotes leap the fence into the yard, or the pool.</p><p>I have not seen those critters yet, but the coons have visited from the time we moved here. We used to keep sunflower seeds for the birds in a covered metal can on the screened porch. The coons caught the scent, tore a big hole in the screen, pushed the can over and helped themselves. Every night.</p><p>I patched the porch with hardware cloth and moved the seed bin to the garage. That only diverted them to the bird feeder, a metal dish mounted on a tall pipe spiked in the ground. Squirrels climb the pipe but only the coons wrestle it to the ground.</p><p>The feeder was empty when the early trick-or-treaters came to call, but they were led toward it, either by smell or by memory. I got several shots of them on the ground, staring straight at me and my camera.</p><p>I got greedy for a closer shot and kept moving toward the animals. When I crossed an invisible line, they gave me a good look and ambled to the fence. After a pause, they made their way up a big dogwood and out onto a long limb. There they sprawled out amid the purple leaves and waited for me to withdraw.</p><p>My bride had suggested we throw them some fresh sunnies. I said we should not, but then I gave in and scattered a scoop of seeds by the fence, hoping to coax them down.</p><p>Eventually they came part of the way down, but the light was fading and they melded into the dark. I had consumed my limit of rye toddies by then and gave it up for the night.</p><p>I am writing this the next day and I will forgo the toddy tonight to photograph human monsters at the door. Stormy weather may keep some of them home, but storm or no storm, I expect the tricksters in the Lone Ranger masks to sneak in for their share of the treats.</p>
<p class="italic font120">Darrell Norman is a columnist for The Gadsden Times. He can be reached at darrell.norman7@gmail.com.</p>